Too late.

  He was on her, trampling her painting as he lunged.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Adele took the creaking wooden steps as if in a daze.

  She could hear Claudia, John’s daughter, sobbing, her head pressed to her father’s chest. Adele’s gaze moved like a searchlight, slow and sweeping, past where John knelt at the base of the porch, his large, muscled arms wrapped gently around his daughter’s form. He didn’t speak, his lips now pressed in a thin, grim line.

  Adele spotted a streak of red in Claudia’s dark hair, some crimson stain trailing down the side of her face, washed by a tear and carried to the tip of her wobbling chin.

  Adele blinked, her eyes shuttering like the lens of an old camera.

  Only a half hour ago, she’d been moving into John’s place. Her stuff packed, her bags at her side. It had been a time of joy. Of true happiness.

  And now calamity.

  John’s ex had been murdered. John’s daughter had been in the house at the time but had managed to hide.

  A postman, or a milkman...Adele couldn’t quite remember...had found them both.

  Though, as Adele turned her attention to the house, she determined the discoverer of the crime scene hadn’t had to go that far to find Bernadette.

  Adele stared at where the woman lay in a pool of blood, just by the door. Adele paused, stepping aside as two forensics agents hastened past, murmuring softly. There was something solemn about the scene. A sort of hushed dread lingering on the air.

  As the forensics unit moved, Adele noticed police farther in the house, moving carefully through the scene, photographing and stepping around any item suggesting disturbance.

  But Adele’s gaze kept drawing back to the victim herself.

  One arm splayed out, the red stain now cold, the woman’s life liquid having seeped into the ground. Adele shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. She heard more sobbing and murmuring and shot another glance back.

  John was stroking his daughter’s head. His large, calloused hand was flat, though, like a stiff board. The look in John’s gaze was one of absolute panic.

  The man had never quite seen himself as a father. And only in recent weeks had he really decided to involve himself with his ten-year-old’s existence. At the time, he’d thought he would have the help of his ex. He would be able to slowly ease himself into the father-figure role.

  But now...

  Adele looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. She reached up with a shaking finger, not quite sure why adrenaline was coursing through her system. The scene demanded shock and fear, but Adele’s emotions were something closer to...

  Confusion?

  Confusion over what—a misplaced thought. Adele’s hand moved to her ribs. The same ribs where a knife had gouged less than a month ago. Another attack on one of John’s girlfriends. Though Adele didn’t quite think of herself as only “John’s girlfriend.” At the time, she’d thought someone had been hunting her.

  But now...

  John’s ex stabbed to death in her own home.

  Someone had tried to stab Adele also, but she’d just barely escaped.

  And now it made sense.

  The confusion was coming from a simple mistake.

  The killer in her apartment, the would-be assassin wasn’t after Adele. He was after John Renee. Someone wanted her partner, wanted John, to suffer...and by the look of the tears in Claudia’s small eyes and the dazed expression on John’s face, this person was succeeding.

  Adele cast another glance about the room within. Some sign of a struggle—more like signs of an attempted escape. John’s ex had tried to flee last minute. But the killer, whoever he was, had been quick. Even the wounds visible on Bernadette suggested quick, merciless murder.

  Though...not all the wounds had been administered quickly.

  Adele swallowed, looking away again. She watched as John straightened, standing tall now. His large hand rested on his daughter’s shoulder, but again in a stiff, uncomfortable fashion. John’s eyes kept moving from Adele to the woman in the doorway. He didn’t look at Claudia. If anything, he looked terrified at what he might find if he glanced at his daughter.

  “Sharp?” John muttered, staring up at her. He blinked as if rousing from some dream. But when his gaze settled again, the nightmare remained. He shook his head. “Umm...think you could...” he gestured at Claudia.

  Adele frowned. “Could what?”

  “Someone needs to take her back to the...the...” John trailed off, shaking his head. The tall Frenchman’s chin angled to the side, displaying the scar trailing under his chin and along his neck. He quieted a moment, then tried again. “This isn’t a good place for her,” he said simply.

  Adele nodded. “You should take her.”

  John flinched. “N-no,” he stammered. “I...I need to help here.”

  “You should take her,” Adele repeated, more gently.

  But it was as if she’d told John that he had to jump out of a plane without a parachute. His eyes widened in horror at the prospect, and he shook his head wildly from side to side. When Claudia shifted, John froze as if frightened his daughter might glance up and notice his head shaking. Instead, John snapped his fingers, pointing toward a younger police officer standing by the front of her squad car.

  “Hey, hey you—Officer Guiller!”

  The woman glanced over, and then when she realized who was speaking, she hastened forward, expression attentive. Adele didn’t say anything, preferring to watch from her position by the porch with a faint frown creasing her features.

  “Claudia needs to be taken somewhere safe,” John said.

  “Hospital?” the policewoman asked.

  “No!” Claudia yelped suddenly.

  John patted her shoulder. “No. Somewhere safe. Somewhere she feels safe.”

  Adele didn’t say anything again. But judging by the way Claudia was holding her father’s waist, her arms shaking, the place she would feel the safest was the place that was closest to John.

  But John’s expression had hardened. Standing now, he’d glimpsed his dead ex. And every couple of seconds, he kept looking back toward her, as if unsure what he was seeing. Or, perhaps, unsure what to do about it.

  The police officer nodded politely, took Claudia by the hand, and guided her toward the vehicle. John called out. “Directly there. Hear me? Give her whatever she wants!”

  Adele felt a pang of grief at this. She knew her own relationship with her father had often been somewhat strained. She sighed, rubbed a hand over her eyes, and tried not to let her mind wander too far.

  She focused as John turned and moved toward her. His foot found the bottom step, sending the thing creaking. Adele peered over her partner’s slicked-back hair. She met his dark gaze. “You should go with your daughter.”

  But John wouldn’t hear it. “I’m needed here,” he said gruffly.

  “Claudia needs you.”

  “Claudia needs justice,” John shot back. “For her mother!” He stared past Adele, his expression grim and his face pale.

  Adele wanted to press the point. But she knew it wouldn’t be appropriate to use John as a stand-in for her father. It wasn’t his fault that he was still figuring this out. Well...perhaps, in a way, it was. But Adele cared for the man. As cantankerous and occasionally curmudgeonly as he could sometimes be, she cared for him. The look in his eyes wasn’t an unfamiliar one—fear came in many ways.

  So instead, she turned, giving John the gift of temporary privacy. She turned her attention once more toward the house and toward the corpse.

  It was John who spoke first though. “Someone’s after me,” he said simply. “That’s obvious now. First you. Now B. Someone’s after me.”

  Adele sighed, rubbing at her ribs, her gaze still lingering on the body. “Yes. I reached a similar conclusion. Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Adele turned, raising an eyebrow.

  “I really don’t know.”

  Adele paused, considering this. She waved a hand toward the corpse. “The wounds were quick. The knife-wielder went straight for the kidneys and major organs. He knew what he was doing. Same as when he came after me.”

  “Yeah...” John bit his lip. “I wish you had shot him then.”

  Adele hesitated. She couldn’t tell if John was trying to blame her for this now. She decided to let it slide. He was in shock, terrified out of his mind and lashing out.

  John was pacing now, stepping off the bottom stair, turning his back to his murdered ex. She didn’t blame him. The forensics team wasn’t done yet, and the coroner would take some time to get them anything of use—if there was anything to find.

  Instead of peering into the house, though, John was staring across the street, his eyes moving rapidly one way then the other.

  “What is it?” Adele said. She joined him on the sidewalk and faced the gray road. The skies above were of a similar hue—also gray and also dark.

  But John wasn’t watching the lumbering clouds. Instead, his piercing gaze kept darting from one large stone house to the next. The homes across the street were larger than his ex’s, but also crowded together with scarcely a gap between them. Red and beige stone veneer stood out against the dull backdrop.

  But then, Adele realized what he was looking for. Her eyes trailed along the homes as well. Suddenly, her finger darted out. “There,” she said simply. “And also there.”

  John nodded. “I saw that one.”

  “It isn’t a competition.”

  “Not with you. But with him,” John murmured. “It is.” And then he began to stride across the street in the direction she’d been pointing.

  She followed quickly behind. Both of the agents were now staring at the single camera over the neighbor’s door, facing the road.

  It wasn’t much to go on, but nowadays, with the advancements of technology, there were far more ways to surveil the street than just traffic cameras or business security footage.

  Many private residences now also had the ability to monitor comings and goings. And on two of the houses, Adele had spotted the tell-tale gleam and glimmer of a glass eye in hiding.

  “You take left,” John said. It wasn’t a request. In a way, he almost spoke as if in a dream, as if forgetting she was even there.

  And again, Adele forgave him for the gruff tone. What else was there to do? She began moving to the left, while John went to the smaller home, on the corner of the street off to the right.

  As Adele reached the opposite sidewalk and stepped onto the curb, she paused, her foot shifting on the concrete. “John,” she called toward the large shoulders of her partner. “Be nice, alright?”

  He grunted.

  “I mean it. We need their help, not a lawsuit.”

  John just waved a large hand dismissively. Adele shook her head. Sometimes, the best way one could help was to simply get out of the way. Normally, she liked to blunt some of John’s rougher edges. But she was starting to suspect that on this particular case, at least as long as they were allowed to investigate it, John’s tactics would be the more prevalent.

  Usually, he let her rein him in.

  But the shock, fear, simmering rage, and outright terror were all warring in John. And so, it was with some concern that she watched him stomp up to the house on the corner, raise his mighty fist and begin pounding on the door.

  Adele sighed, approaching the second home with the second security camera. Instead of attempting to bludgeon down the door, she rang the doorbell.

  A soft ding, accompanied the sound from farther along the sidewalk of Thud, thud, thud.

  One of them pummeling the wooden frame, the other using the bell. Adele shook her head, resigning herself to a less than comfortable next few hours. She tried not to look at Agent Renee... Tides had been shifting, hadn’t they? Adele had been within sight of a home...a place with warmth and love...But now?

  Adele feared that perhaps a dream was on the verge of death.

  And there was nothing she could do but watch it wilt.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Adele shot a sidelong glance toward where John’s massive arms crossed over his equally large chest. The man had practically dragged the forensics worker to the side of the sedan. And now, a tablet was propped on top of the vehicle, displaying the grainy footage Adele and John had managed to wrangle from the neighbors.

  It hadn’t been so much John and Adele’s requests—or styles of request—but rather the prevalent affection the neighbors seemed to have possessed for Claudia and her mother.

  Adele’s ring of the front door and subsequent explanation of the circumstances had enticed a long: “Aww, that’s horrible. I loved Bernie. Yes—of course you can have the footage...”

  John had been scowling when he’d returned, but Adele wasn’t sure if this had been because of the welcome he’d received in response to his gruff demands or rather just a function of his current mood.

  Either way, both of them had gained the necessary footage and both were waiting on tenterhooks as the forensics agent hastily allowed the file to buffer.

  The young man, with large-rimmed glasses, was murmuring, “Apologies. Apologies...the servers they’re using are from separate companies. Oh—here! There we are. This is from 212. And this one...” A tap of a finger against a smaller tab on the screen. “Is from 232.”

  Adele nodded in gratitude. John just leaned forward, tapping a finger firmly against the glass. The two of them watched closely, eyes narrowed as the footage began to play.

  “Here...” the techie murmured, “This is when something shows up.”

  He scrolled the video, then nodded at the screen.

  Adele watched the murky, dark image. A strange car pulled up to the curb. The same curb where they were now gathered. John frowned at the image. “Any way to brighten this?” he asked, voice husky.

  “No, no that’s it, I’m afraid.”

  John cursed. “It’s too dark to see anything!” he snapped.

  “What about the other film?” Adele asked quietly.

  The first film had only shown the car. The driver’s side was out of frame, and there was no audio. The second film began to play, and both of them leaned closer.

  Again, the same scene played. A dark car, with no distinguishing marks. This time, the film displayed a shadow emerged from the driver’s side. But again...nothing beyond that. The opposite side of the street was out of the frame.

  “Dammit!” John yelled, slapping his hand against his leg. He turned in frustration, marching up the sidewalk, breathing heavily.

  Adele winced apologetically at the techie but then pursued John, hastening after him. John was shaking his head in frustration, rubbing his knuckles against the inside of his palm.

  “We’ll find him,” Adele said hurriedly as she caught up with the big man. She touched his arm, and he flinched.

  He grimaced and glanced at her, shaking his head. He opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to find the words and closed it again.

  She stood next to him, silent, listening.

  He stared toward the house, swallowing once. “I have to find who did this,” he said softly.

  “We’ll try. I’ll ask them to clean up the footage.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “A day or two.”

  “Too long.”

  Adele winced. “It’s the only thing we have. They’ll tell us if anything is found by the coroner or physical evidence at the scene.”

  John shook his head, voice trembling. “Do you think they’re interrogating her?”

  “Who?”

  He looked away.

  “Claudia will be fine,” Adele said gently. “You’re doing your best.” She touched his arm again, and this time the man didn’t flinch. He just leaned back, eyes closed as he turned his face to regard the sky.

  “What now?” John muttered.

  “We should speak with Foucault,” Adele said. “You need to disclose your association with the case. You should take a couple of weeks off.”

  He snorted. “Hell no.” He glanced at her, widening one eye.

  She frowned. “You have to, John!”

  He scowled. “No. I’m working this case.”

  “Not this one!” Adele said. “Once they have something, they’ll let us know. I’m talking in general. You can’t fulfill your obligations to the DGSI. Not like this.”

  But John shook his head again. “Best thing for me is another case. I’ll wait until the footage is cleaned up, then in a couple of days we’ll find the bastard who did this. But I can’t just sit tight for two days, Adele. Doing nothing. Being useless.”

  “You wouldn’t be useless,” she said, some frigidity to her voice now. “Claudia needs you.”

  John looked away from Adele as if he couldn’t quite meet her gaze. He scowled across the street. “I’m calling the office.” His phone appeared in his hand. “Wait! What for?” she demanded, tugging at his wrist.

  But he yanked his arm away, glaring at her. “I’m calling,” he snapped. “They can expedite the footage.”

  “They won’t be able to,” Adele said with a shrug. “Two days is already warp speed.”

  But John had already placed the call. Adele watched, tense. She wanted to cut in, wanted to force him to disclose what had happened. Executive Foucault may have been notified that John and Adele were at a crime scene, but it was unlikely that John’s association to the case would be instantly available.

  One of the company’s polices was to reveal if there were any entanglements in cases such as these. It made an agent unfit to investigate other cases.

  But Adele knew she couldn’t press the point too much. How many times had she, even distraught, stuck to a case out of a sheer sense of dogged determination.

  She wouldn’t have expected anything less from John, but it still left her wondering if there was a role she ought to play.

  Still, as John lifted the phone, she heard Foucault answer on the second ring.

  “Agent Renee?” The hawk-nosed executive of the DGSI said.

 

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